“Oh,” Miss O’Neil’s shoulders jumped toward her ears as she gasped. “I didn’t know. I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d alone. I’ll leave you in peace.”
She was in her nightgown with her walking coat over it; her small feet thrust into pale slippers. Her hair was in one long rope-like braid over her shoulders. The moonlight made her skin look pale and faintly blue. Her candle was guttering, producing very little light of its own.
And she was turning to leave.
“Wait,” he called in a whisper. “It’s no trouble. I mean, you can stay. I’ll go.”
She stopped, looking back at him over her shoulder.
“No, no. I don’t want to intrude,” she protested.
“It’s no intrusion.”
“I couldn’t interrupt.”
“Miss O’Neil,” he was smiling now, his hand reaching out to touch her wrist.
She looked down at where his fingers touched her skin, and he took his hand away.
“Perhaps it would be all right for us both to stay,” she said softly.
He hesitated. The thought of being along with her in the dark room was almost too tempting. A trickle of danger went down his spine, even as he felt himself nodding. “All right.”
Together they re-entered the room, shutting the door quietly to prevent the squirrel from escaping down the hallway.
“He’s awake,” she said, lifting her pitiful candle up. “He’s normally asleep at this hour.”
“Normally?” Joseph asked. He took her candle from her and handed her his, which had a stronger flame. The golden light illuminated the softness of her skin.
“Don’t mention it to Lady Heather. She’d be frightfully cross if she knew I was sneaking visits to her pet without her.”
Joseph lifted his finger to his lips, indicating that he would be quiet about it. Despite the intensity of his agitation whenever he thought of her, he found that in her presence, a remarkable sense of ease came over him.
“He’s restless,” he whispered after a while. They both silently watched the dauntless squirrel exploring the nooks and crannies of the room despite his impediment. “He won’t stay here long.”
“No infection, then?” she asked, questioning him with such trust in her voice. As though he were an actual animal physician and not merely an ordinary man with an overabundance of empathy for rodents.
“It doesn’t look as though he is suffering from anything other than frustration at his bandages now. What was that?”
A faint metallic tinkling sound had interrupted his train of thought. Miss O’Neil was crouching now, casting the candle out in front of her face as she scanned the ground.
“Oh, it’s my necklace. The chain has been broken as long as I can remember. I’ve mended it dozens of times, but…I guess I’m not very skilled at jewelry repair. Here it is.”
She straightened back up.
“Will you hold this for just a moment?” she asked, handing him the candle.
He took it from her, holding it steady as she inspected the chain.
“Oh dear, the link has really snapped this time. I shall have to fashion a wire one tomorrow,” she said with a frown as she peered at the necklace.
“Why not have it mended properly by a jeweler?” he asked as he handed her back the candle. He took the necklace from her, his hand brushing hers, and lifted it to the light to look at it himself.
She inhaled as if she would sigh, but then she smiled softly instead. “Well, there is always something more important to spend money on.”
“More important than this?” he asked, raising a brow at her. In his hands was what, he knew, was her most prized possession. Her one link to the parents she couldn’t remember.
“It’s only a chain,” she said, but he didn’t believe her casual air.
“The next time you are in town, bring it to Mister Oleander on High Street. He can mend it once and for all.”
“My Lord—”
“He knows me. Merely tell him who sent you and he will pass the charge on to my name.”
“Again, you are too generous, My Lord. It would be improper for me to accept.”
“Miss O’Neil, please. Such an expense is negligible to me. I’d be a poor Christian indeed if I did not extend such a small charity when it would mean so much to you. Not as an employer, merely. But as a friend.”
She seemed stunned by his words. In fact, he was rather alarmed at the ease with which he had said them himself.
“I…” he faltered somewhat, “I hope you are not offended by my saying so, but your closeness to my daughter evokes a closeness to me. At any rate…it would please me to do this for you. As a token of my gratitude, at least.”
She gazed up at him, her normally warm brown eyes intensified by the warmth of the candlelight.
Would you hate me if I kissed you? Would you be frightened or insulted? Would you run to the Dowager and never come back?
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“In the meantime…” he turned back to the trunk and pulled from it a spool of strong thread that he normally used for suturing. Miss O’Neil came to stand next to him, holding the light up for him as he cut a length of the thread and threaded it between the links of the chain. Tying it together, he trimmed off the excess thread. “This will suffice until you have it fixed properly.”
He held up the necklace, testing the strength of his solution.
“As long as you don’t go tugging on it,” he chuckled. “Allow me…”
He stepped behind Miss O’Neil, draping the necklace around her neck. His fingers grazed against her skin and he noticed her breath had caught in her throat. When he had clasped the necklace together, he lingered a moment or two longer than was necessary. Rather brazenly, he dragged his fingertip over the top of her spine. He heard her exhale slowly, but still, she did not move. He leaned forward, rocking his weight onto the balls of his feet ever so slightly. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the faintly floral scent of her hair.
She did not protest when he placed his hands over her shoulders, but neither did she seem to welcome his touch either. She stood very still, and he worried that he was frightening her.
Or would you yield to me?
He did not kiss her, though every fiber of him longed to press his lips to the warm slope of her neck. Would she let him wrap his arms around her waist and his hands wander over her curves? Would she sigh and tip her head to the side, catching his mouth with hers as he kissed up the side of her neck?
“Mister Oleander?” she clarified after a tense moment, turning around to face him slowly. He let his hands fall to his side.
“On High Street. His sign has a set of wedding rings painted on it.”
She stared up at him, her eyes swimming with some emotion he couldn’t decipher.
If only I could simply ask you. If only you would simply tell me what you are thinking.
“I should get to bed,” she said.
“It’s very late,” he agreed, his subconscious screaming at him not to let her get away.
“Goodnight, My Lord.”
“Goodnight, Miss O’Neil.”
Chapter 17
Over the following fortnight, Amanda visited the squirrel in the night often, always in the subconscious hope that she would see Lord Ethelred there. She liked the cold, dark little room, with its scant furnishings and its peeling wallpaper. When she went there, she felt as though she was getting a glimpse of what Ethelred Manor would look like, one day in the far future when the land would reclaim this spot, mother nature twining her vines through the stony edifice and taking back what was hers.
It was a pleasure to watch the little animal recover. One night, she and the Marquess were seated on the floor, their legs crossed underneath them like children, as they watched the animal scamper about chasing a walnut shell.
“His spirit has recovered more quickly than his leg,” the Marquess whispered. When they met each other in the room at night now, there were very few words
spoken between them. Rather, the two sat in a companionable silence that Amanda found perhaps even more nourishing than conversation.
“He must be frustrated. Suppose he has a family waiting for him?” she whispered back.
“We will release him soon. Heather will not be happy. She always wished to keep the animals as pets. My speech about animals’ need to be free and wild is well practiced by now.”
Amanda smiled lightly. “I look forward to hearing it.”
She had her necklace fixed by a proper jeweler only a few days after he had told her. She found Mister Oleander on a trip with Lady Heather to buy her new sewing needles.
Mister Oleander was an ancient man; the wrinkles in his craggy face were like canyons etching through a landscape. But his eyes were sharp and clear, small and beady black. His tone was warm.
Amanda thought that the old jeweler seemed to understand how much the necklace meant to her. When she removed it from her neck and placed it into his hand, he held it with a certain reverence that comforted her. As if to say “This is no ordinary necklace, I see. It will be safe with me.”
“I can have this mended in a day, Miss.”
Amanda smiled. “Thank you very much,” she said, though she lingered at the door. Leaving the necklace behind as she went back into the street, she could almost sense a thread tying herself to the trinket growing perilously thin as she walked away.
For the rest of the day, her hand often went to her bare neck, alarmed at the lack of the thin chain that had hung there for the whole of her life that she could remember.
The following day she received leave from Lord Ethelred to return to town alone to pick up the necklace. When she asked him if it would be all right to leave Lady Heather in the care of the housekeeper for the morning, his face had brightened.
“Yes, of course. You may take the carriage. I’m glad you took up my offer to have the necklace fixed.”
“It means ever so much to me,” she said. His study was quiet, the silence of the room deepened by the insulating effect of the many heavy books that lined the bookcases. “I really can’t begin to thank you.”
“Miss O’Neil,” he said, taking a step toward her. “I hope you understand that if there is ever any way that I can make you more comfortable here, or even happy, I do not wish you to hesitate to ask me. It pleases me to provide for those under my roof.”
Without thinking, Amanda reached for his hand. She only noticed she had done it when she saw his shoulders stiffen momentarily at the shock of her skin against his. Gazing earnestly into his eyes, she squeezed his fingers.
“Thank you,” she said.
His shoulders relaxed and he squeezed her hand back in response.
* * *
“But Lord Acornshire doesn’t want to leave!” Lady Heather cried out one bright afternoon as the three of them sat together on the grassy hill overlooking the lake. Lord Ethelred had accompanied them on their morning lessons specifically for the purpose of breaking the hard news to Lady Heather.
“But he does, My Lady,” Amanda consoled gently. “He is restless, and he no longer needs the safety of the manor. He wants to climb trees again.”
“You’ve seen him scratching at the walls yourself,” Lord Ethelred enjoined. “Suppose he has a family who is missing him?”
Lady Heather frowned and looked down at the grass below her where she sat. Petulantly, she pulled at the green blades of grass, stacking them in a little pile at her foot.
“But we will miss him if he goes.” Her tone was sad, but it was clear that she knew it was a losing battle.
“Perhaps he will visit our garden from time to time, like Sir Mink,” Lord Ethelred said.
This seemed to cheer the little girl, though she still refused to come with her father when he went to release the squirrel in the wild.
“I can’t bear to see him run away,” she explained, as she bade farewell to Lord Acornshire in the cold little room. “But you must go with him in my place,” she said to Amanda.
“I would like to,” Amanda said, raising a questioning gaze to Lord Ethelred. “If it’s no intrusion?”
“On the contrary, I welcome the company. Heather? Run along and find Miss Green. While Miss O’Neil and I are out, I want you to help her with the housekeeping.”
“Wha…?”
“You heard me. You will be mistress of a grand house one day and you need to know the work that goes into its maintenance.”
Lady Heather pressed her lips together in a comical expression of displeasure, but she would not disobey a direct command from her father, and she went off directly in search of the housekeeper. Amanda bit her lip to stop from giggling at the little girl’s frown.
“She’s so charming when she’s vexed; it’s a struggle not to tease her at times,” she said casually as the Marquess lined an old hatbox with a blanket and gently placed the restless squirrel inside of it.
“She gets that from her mother,” he said, just as casually. “Even in the midst of our most heated disagreements, she was the most attractive woman I’d ever seen.”
They walked together through the manor and out the back through the garden. The day was warm but breezy, with high, puffy clouds listing lazily over the blue dome of the sky. The hatbox knocked about slightly in Lord Ethelred’s hands.
“He must know that his freedom is at hand,” Amanda said.
Lord Ethelred smiled gently. For the rest of the journey back toward the meadow, their walk took on a processional air. The cracking of twigs beneath their feet gently announced to the wood the return of Lord Acornshire, and it seemed to Amanda that the swifts darting overhead were bearing witness to this ritual.
The meadow was even more magical than she remembered. Golden rays of sun filtered through the trees, dappling the long pale grass with flickering puddles of light. Silently, they went to the midst of the clearing and the Marquess placed the hatbox on the ground.
“Ready?” he asked.
Amanda nodded her head.
He lifted the lid with the soft sound of cardboard sliding against cardboard. The squirrel within blinked several times as his eyes adjusted from the darkness of the box to the sunlight. He hopped out of the box immediately and scampered a few steps in an arc around Amanda and the Marquess. Its nose was close to the ground and he gazed about himself as though regaining his bearings.
And then, he was off. With a bounding leap, he took off in the direction of the deeper woods with nary a look back at the humans who had rescued him.
Amanda sat back on her heels.
“Well, how about that? And with not so much as a fare-thee-well.”
Lord Ethelred laughed. At least, his version of a laugh. She had yet to see him truly surrender to laughter. There was always this air of restraint in the low, quiet way he chuckled. Always as though he were laughing to himself only, remembering a joke from long ago, perhaps.
“It’s why Heather didn’t come. She is often disappointed by animals’ lack of apparent gratitude.”
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the birdsong and the rustling of leaves. Amanda was reluctant to leave the magical spot too soon, and as the Marquess did not immediately stand to leave, she thought that he must have felt the same way.
“I imagine that you have been caring for wildlife since you were a boy?” she asked, referencing his apparent knowledge.
He shook his head slowly. “No. I never did until Teresa died.”
The name of his late wife seemed to fill the space like a fine mist as his eyes darkened slightly and he retreated into himself. It was always apparent when he was lost in memories of her. His shoulders slackened, and his fingers unclenched.
Amanda did not respond. Perhaps he would say more. Perhaps he wouldn’t. But she thought it best to give him plenty of time to decide.
“When she died,” he continued after a period of silence, “I still had all of this…this love inside me. The love I had shown her, it didn’t die with her. Only then I didn’
t know where to put it. Carrying it around inside me felt…” He spoke slowly, staring down at his hands as they lay palm up on his knees where he kneeled on the grass. “I don’t know. It felt too big. With no outlet, the love I had felt as though it were overfilling me and ripping at the seams. It was agony.”
Amanda nodded silently, still not daring to interrupt him. At that moment, he was like a wild animal himself, vulnerable, and skittish. Saying the wrong thing might prevent him from opening up in this way to her ever again.
Seducing The Perfectly Enchanting Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 12